Two Cultures, Again – Kate Venables

I am a student in a creative writing programme, a mature student, from a professional background as an epidemiologist. Amongst ourselves, we students don’t really talk about ‘creativity’. We talk a lot about craft and sometimes we talk about ourselves and the way in which how we feel affects our writing. But rarely about ‘creativity’…

Dances with Rabbits – Walker Thomas

I stood under the alligator juniper that shaded my tent in the oak woods. Effie squatted between my feet. In The Maltese Falcon, Sam Spade called his receptionist Effie. But the Effie at my feet was no lady. I called her F. E. Cottontail in my journals. Cottontails are coprophagous – literally, Fecal Eating. That…

Missing Woman – Katie Hunter

In early October 2020, my partner Greg and I drove at sunrise to Zion National Park in southern Utah. On the way I swigged coffee and snapped photos of sandstone cliffs dip-dyed red by the sun. They dwarfed what I’d imagined while planning our pandemic-adapted vacation – a national park tour via road trip, starting…

Lemons – Victory Witherkeigh

“You made it, Grandma!” I said as I gave her a hug. The gold tassel swished in my face from the graduation cap I hadn’t removed yet. “I’ve been to all your graduations, Iha,” she replied in a huff, “And, I’ll be at the next one.” I gripped her hand as she steadied herself with…

I Can’t Recall a Time Without War – Casey Canright

The weeks that followed exploded into a patriotic frenzy. Red, white, and blue dotted every neighborhood – even our own. Old Navy’s Fourth of July T-shirts reemerged for the last few weeks of September. Dad brought home a flag – taller than me – which I demanded be hung by the front door, just like…

TWO POEMS – Patrick Landy

the slow inflections of the wind
where rivers run like scars.
The moon hangs quietly
in the blackened air, halved and emptied, decaying since dusk

ONE POEM – Ava Patel

Here lie abandoned gyro crusts and Bundt cake crumbs.
Your fingers shine with olive oil grease

It’s Always Going Away: Losing the Places We Love – Nina Smilow

New York is often unfairly maligned for being unfeeling, but that’s just what we call uncontrollable things, which the city is. It tumbles on, transforming a million times over the course of a decade before remaining stagnant for far too long. Occasionally, shifts rise rapidly from seismic events. I’ve seen sudden pivots in the wake…

TWO POEMS – DS Maolalai

waking
at midnight
to piss
on the sand dunes
and the sky overhead
like a badly
scratched frying pan.

ONE POEM – Nóra Blascsók

In an ideal world
the washing machine
is a portal to clean linen
dishes lean back like sun
loungers by the sink

Heaven-Born Things – Sally Gander

What springs from earth dissolves to earth again, and heaven-born things fly to their native seat.Marcus Aurelius ‘It’s about a third full,’ I say, clutching the mobile phone to my ear as I hang my head into the water tank, my voice bouncing off the metal sides and echoing back at me. ‘Does the pipe…

Midnight Games – Madeehah Reza

It’s not that she wasn’t happy for her sister, far from it. Nadia only wished she could hold on to her for a little longer.

COMFORT FOODS // ONE POEM – Dea Guri

my father wanted to recreate the grapes
grow his own over our tiny backyard in the suburbs just outside the city
his vision was three separate plants,
arching and twisting their vines from our neighbor’s garage to ours

ONE POEM – Nicola Maclean

Zones one to three have become a long-distance relationship.
Underground, Hades and his sardine dead
reach their eleventh hour

THREE POEMS – Susan Moon

My mother packed eggs sunny side up,
Spam slices golden-browned to perfection
tucked into my lunchbox.

ONE POEM – Alice Foo

The angel comes unbidden
on a Thursday morning,
knocking briskly, handing me
a pineapple and thirteen coral-tinted roses.

PHOTOGRAPHY: Jessica Swank

Through photography and sculpture, I question how the manipulation of behaviour and patterns dehumanises society.

ART – Geneviève Dumas

Because of the pandemic, we didn’t have any Olympics this summer, so I decided to reproduce the Olympic coverage in July by printing (screen printing) over selected pictures from the Montreal Olympics of 1976

ART: Natalie Bradford

Through countless retrievals, our memories of precious moments lose their ‘truth.’

The View from Here – Lettie Mckie

A version of this piece first appeared on Trampset In April, the reality of the pandemic fades into the background as my family deals with our own internal crisis. The house is in Kemsing, a southern English village in the Kent countryside. It is nestled on the slopes of the North Downs, a range of…

My Unsung Sheroes – Susan Moon

Just a spoonful satisfyingly sears on the way down, tickling all the microvilli on its magic school bus trip through the body. A taste so tangy, a flavor so fearless. Anything but diluted, the way I’d always told myself to be.

Some observations concerning the desirability of a new paradigm for medicine

We physicians have never had a clearly defined mission. That mattered less when expectations were lower and we could do less. Now though, the reigning paradigm is grounded in basic science, excessively confident, inpatient-centric, and broadly focused on treatment of symptoms and signs, on diagnosis and therapy. The development of a new medical paradigm seems…

ONE POEM – David Linklater

The train leans through
the Highland line, Inverness
to Fearn, wheat either side.
This carriage bows for you.

Failing to Eat a Local Delicacy – Michael O’Mahony

Lorighittas are a type of pasta made in one small village, Morgongiori, on a side of a mountain on the east of Sardinia. Only the women of this village, and only some of them, know how to make lorighittas. A lorighitta is effectively a woven pasta made from a dough of semolina and water. Each…